Page 6 of The Fete of Summer (Tales of Crumbington #1)

Celebrity

There was no way Nathan was going to have a good game on Sunday. He had woken that morning filled with anxiety about finding the right moment to tell the team—his friends—about Arlene’s master plan.

When the final whistle blew, they’d managed an acceptable goalless draw—no thanks to him. In the changing rooms afterwards, he showered and changed quickly as the usual banter carried on around him.

“What was up with you today, Fresher?” asked the fullback.

“Not on my best form today. Sorry, chaps,” said Nathan.

“We all have off days.”

“Thought you might have been sniffing out one of the opposition,” said Ken, one of the younger and better-looking team players, smirking and winking at Nathan.

Laughter filled the changing room, and Nathan joined in.

One thing he could confidently say about his team was that none of them gave a toss about his sexuality.

“Noticed that left back kept giving you the eye.”

“He’s my window cleaner. I still owe him money.”

A couple of the men laughed. Jumping on the moment of getting their attention, he clambered up onto the changing room bench seat, grabbing one of the coat hooks for support.

“Listen, chaps. Important announcement before you all bugger off. If you’re up for it, I’ve been asked to get your help with a charitable venture for this year’s summer fête.”

Conversations either stopped or quietened among the good-hearted bunch.

The previous year, they had played a game for charity against St Joseph’s, a school for physically challenged kids—which they’d obviously let the kids win.

As he talked through the proposal for the summer fête, the room grew progressively quieter, and as he came to the end, an ominous silence filled the room.

“Have a chat with your other halves before you let me know. To be honest, I’m not over the moon about the idea.

It’s a big ask, and the new chairperson—Arlene Killroy—doesn’t know you.

It’s your choice, so if it’s a no, that’s perfectly fine.

I’ll let her know and back you all the way.

But for now, I’m going to add you all to a private messaging group called Fête Calendar in case you have any questions.

Private message me for anything personal and to let me know whether you’re in or out.

No pressure. I’ll let the group know if we go ahead, but if we do this, we’ll need at least twelve volunteers, one for each month of the year.

I’ll need your response either way by the end of next week.

The photoshoot, if it goes ahead, will be in February. ”

After a quick scan of the room, Nathan could see plenty of shared frowns and shaking heads. Most of the players, by the looks of things. So be it .

“Do you mean all of us?” asked Bob Collier, landlord of The Crumbington Arms, goalkeeper and one of the oldest players on the team. “Or just the young ones?”

“It’s a Crumbington football team calendar, Bob. Nobody's excluded. If you’re in the team and you’re happy to be photographed, I’ll put your name forward. Arlene wants the calendar to be about real men.”

“That rules you out, then, Bob.”

A couple of the guys chuckled.

“We wouldn’t be showing our dicks, though, would we?” continued Bob.

“Don’t worry, Bob,” came a raised voice from the back of the room. “They’d have to find yours first.”

“Fuck off all of you. Nathan?”

Laughter had always been the best medicine in tense situations. Nathan laughed along with them.

“No private parts,” he answered, once the laughter had died down. “Absolutely no junk on display. We want this to be suitable for the whole family. Tasteful and fun shots of us at our best by a professional photographer who has promised to make us look as attractive as possible.”

“Are you going to do it, Nathan?” asked Bob.

The million-dollar question. Some of the men were still laughing, but he noticed a number of them had stilled, their eyes on him.

“Come on, guys. You know me. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a hypocrite.” However much he wanted the men to turn down the idea, he was grateful to have Polly’s cousin’s advice come back to him. “I would never ask you to do something I’m not prepared to do myself.”

Silence again. He glanced at his watch. Arlene’s function was due to begin in thirty minutes, and he would need to put his skates on if he was to walk there in time. Maybe he needed one last carrot to dangle.

“And if it goes ahead, I’m going to insist the majority of the proceeds from the calendar sale goes to St Joseph’s. Which is only fair, seeing as how we know them, and they know us.”

As he jumped down from the bench, he noticed a few of them nodding. They were a decent bunch of blokes. Maybe there was still hope.

Outside the clubhouse in the chill midday air, Mikey called out his name before dashing to catch up with him and pulling him to a stop.

“What the fridge, Nathan?” Mikey’s wife had trained him to replace his usual arsenal of cusses with innocuous words around his young children, and the habit had stuck.

“I know.” Nathan huffed out a sigh, staring at Mikey’s collar. “I’d have given you a heads-up, but I couldn’t find you before the game. You missed an interesting committee meeting on Friday. Do you think anyone will agree?”

“Maybe. But if you’re in, so am I.”

Nathan looked up into his friend’s eyes.

“Seriously?”

Apart from being a genuinely decent bloke, Mikey had a nice body. He made up in his physique what he lacked in looks. Far more toned than Nathan. Polly had once likened Mikey to having the body of a stallion and the head of a donkey.

“Reckon my missus will love the idea. Might even get me a shag.”

“Nice. Although we’ll need more volunteers if this is going to happen. Work on a few for me, will you?”

“No problem. Benny Cheung might come around. If only we could convince him that your teacher friend wants to see him in the calendar.”

“Polly? Does Benny fancy—?”

“He won’t say anything to you. He knows you and Polly are best friends. But the man would give his left testicle for a date with her.”

“Really?” Nathan always thought the lads shared everything with him, but Mikey’s reasoning made perfect sense. “I think Benny might be a bit young for her.”

“He’s twenty-five. How old is she?”

“Same age as me,” said Nathan, glancing sidelong at Mikey. “But she usually likes them a fair bit older. Tell him I’ll promise to put in a good word for him if he agrees to do the calendar?”

“You sly bastard?” said Mikey after laughing at the sky. “Love it. Are you going to this shindig at The Arms to meet this photographer friend of Arlene’s?”

“Of course.”

“Come on. I’ll give you a lift. The wife’s meeting me there. I lucked out today. Her mum offered to make a Sunday roast and take care of the kids. We can have a few drinks together.”

Nathan thanked his lucky stars that Mikey had the family car with him and not his butcher’s van.

Not that he minded advertising his friend’s business, but the odours of old carcasses tended to permeate the seats and upholstery.

On the drive to the pub, Nathan brought Mikey up to speed with other revelations from the committee meeting.

“Blimey. Bit of a shake-up, then? What do you make of this Arlene Killroy?” asked Mikey.

“She’s no Father Mulligan. But maybe that’s a good thing. Only time will tell.”

“If her goal is to ramp up attendance and draw attention to local businesses, then she has my vote.”

“I suppose so.”

“And as much as I hate to say it, Nathan, she’s right about one thing,” said Mikey, steering his car into the small lane leading to the back of the pub. “The event has become a bit tired of late. Even my kids say so.”

On Sunday lunchtime, the pub car park was crammed. Mikey parked up his Volvo estate between a beaten-up Toyota and a sleek Tesla, which just about summed up Crumbington.

Nathan trailed Mikey into the crowded private bar.

A thick cluster of people, none Nathan recognised, chattered excitedly at one end of the long room.

Arlene had clearly invited out-of-towners, and somebody held court there.

At the emptier end, Mikey’s wife chatted with Polly and, annoyingly, joker Jaymes.

As they already had drinks, Nathan offered to get a round for him and Mikey.

He had barely returned and placed them down when Arlene grabbed him by the upper arm and led him away.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. When he looked back, Mikey rolled his eyes in sympathy, but Polly’s face registered concern, and she beckoned him back.

He held up his index finger in what he considered the universal signal for being back in a moment.

He was not about to let Arlene and her cronies monopolise him on his one day off.

“Nathan. Finally,” she said before he could speak. No word of apology for hauling him off, no polite explanation or rueful smile. “There’s somebody I insist you meet.”

Without another word, she led the way through the room of bodies to the far corner, where the larger crowd still hemmed in the poor guest. Nathan guessed the attraction to be Arlene’s photographer friend, who would be considered a celebrity by their parochial villagers.

“And here’s me thinking you wanted to know how it went with the team.”

“Later,” she said dismissively. “There are more important things right now.”

Without consideration, Arlene jostled people out of her path like a professional bodyguard until only the front row stood in her way. With a loud cough, she got the attention of the two women in front of her, who parted to let her through to meet the focus of attention.

Clifton O’Keefe.